Resident Evil: Evoluzion
by Terribly Sorry To Interrupt
Summary: Warning: Violence, Blood, Gore, Language. There was a leak in the 'classified' data, someone has altered it, improved it. They are practically unstoppable. Sheva, Chris, and OCs get caught in the crossfire. Will it ever end? Implied Chris/Sheva.
1. The Beginning: Riley Puter

"Liam Kiosky." The man said, offering a hand to me. I was never one for physical contact, but when I looked at his hand, I have to admit I was disgusted. It looked like the man hadn't washed it in _years_. I imagine it probably stunk to high heaven, too; if it weren't for the fact my nose was stopped up, I would have been subjected to that stench. Thank God I wasn't.

"Oh yeah, it's a bit grimy, isn't it?" He now looked at his hand, then wiped it off on his trousers before returning it to where it had been before me.

I placed my journal under my armpit, in return. "Riley Puter." I said, reaching out a hand.

He grabbed it immediately, shook it like it was a Yatzi shaker, then let my arms fall limp to my side. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Puter."

I looked at my hand; he had managed to exchange quite a bit of… whatever was on his hand with me.

He placed his handgun in its holster. Picking up an assault rifle, he looked at me, " Ever had to use a weapon of this caliber before?" Liam attempted to hand me the gun.

"No, and I'd rather not." I took a step back.

He shrugged, then placed the gun strap over his shoulder. He looked up at the ceiling, " That's a nasty hole, eh?" He pointed with his index finger. He spun around slowly, craning his neck further and further as he searched for something that ,apparently, the hole must contain. Liam laughed, then walked over to the shelves containing, what appeared to be, boxes of ammo.

"Yes, it is a nasty hole, which _you _created. I don't understand why you did that, if you would have knocked on the door, like _civilized _human, I would have gladly just opened it." I stated, now placing my journal in my satchel.

Kiosky was still examining the shelves, " Well, then, excuse me for not knocking. Though I think that you have more sense than to actually open the door. Plus, I didn't even know anyone was in here!" As he took a box off the shelf and emptied its contents into an ammo pouch, I looked him over. He was pretty tall, at least five foot eight, with unruly hair that was graying. His eyes were a very pale blue, almost gray. He was wearing a green striped dress shirt, all of the buttons were missing, and there were smears of some greenish yellow substance, hints of red here and there. His black undershirt was torn near the top seams. He was wearing khaki pants and a brown belt. His black dress shoes were scuffed and wore out on the soles. Liam had several arsenal weapons; a handgun in a holster, a rifle, a shotgun, an automatic, and another handgun, under his belt.

He took another box off the self. " What do you want me to call you? Liam? Kiosky? Do you have some sort of nickname or something?" I asked. It was to my knowledge that when confronted with a seemingly uncivilized man, to do your best not to insult him. He might not _want _me to use his first name, then again he might feel like I'm trying to preemptively emotionally detach myself from him by calling him Kiosky.

"What kind of question is that?" Liam paused and looked back at me, " Call me whatever the fuck you want, man! AS long as I know who you're talking to, I really don't give a shit!"

Ah, a man who uses obscenities.

"Okay, I guess I'll call you Kiosky," I paused for a second, " you can call me Riley or Puter, whatever works for you."

"I'll keep that in mind." He turned back to the shelves, now shaking several boxes and listening to its contents. I watched him for a while; he looked like he knew what he was doing, at least.

I had to admit, the man had given me quite a scare when he'd shown up.

_I embarked on this 'vacation' to study the biology of functioning mutated human beings. I paid for everything out of my own pocket. I didn't mind though, it was a welcomed opportunity. They needed someone to present the facts, I needed an excuse to get away- again. I arrived at this particular outpost outside of Bosnia, Russia. I was greeted by a group of men in white camouflage uniforms. They said that they were preparing live specimen! They instructed me to wait in a painfully boring room, completely white, dimly lit, with a television receiving only local channels. I don't speak Russian. After two hours of that, a man came to get me and very calmly told me to follow him. He was walking a little fast, wouldn't tell me where we were going, either. We turned down several corridors until I heard a noise behind us,. It was an echo, a sharp one. It sounded choked, like someone was speaking while gagging, and not dryly. Then there were several loud bangs, something fell, something cracked, more echoes of guttural sounds. I was about to question him on it, but he picked up the pace, told me to head straight down the hallway, still very calm. I was about to obey when the man grabbed my arm, He pulled something out from under his vest; a piece of folder paper and what appeared to be a data chip. " Don't open that piece of paper until you're somewhere where you can access a computer to look at the data on that chip. Understand?" I nodded in response, placing the chip and the paper in the front pocket of my satchel. He looked back down the hallway, toward the sounds growing louder and less of an echo, then turned back to me. He pushed me forward, causing me to stumble a bit, and then instructed me to run. He was right behind me._

_He was breathing heavily, there was a fork coming up. He started sprinting, pulling me along with him. " He stopped at the fork and turned right, instructing me to continue forward. " Tell HQ that Yurick made the delivery. Remember: Yurick. Do __**not **__open that door once you get inside! For anyone!" He did not wait for a conformation, I nodded as he turned down the hallway, practically leaping. I continued on my way. When I entered the ammo storage facility, the doors locked automatically. I sighed heavily, placing my hands on my knees. It was dark when I first came in, I could not find the light switch for quite some time. For several hours, maybe four, I heard those same choking, clogging noises and what sounded like the destruction of wood. I kept quiet. I did not know what was going on ( I still don't know what's going on), but I played along, it must be some time of drill. I did not want to upset the directors of the outpost by messing up a simulation, plus, I __**really**__ wanted to get a chance to examine the specimen. I had nothing to do and it was far too quiet, so I began to read my own research journal, editing here and there; I had been meaning to buy a new one, but the journey was scheduled within hours of my last deployment. _

_Twenty-Eight pages into editing and there was an __**extremely loud **__bang, almost like an explosion, as if someone had set off fireworks right next to my ear. I looked up, terrified, trying to scramble to my feet; shotgun holes in the ceiling. There was pounding above me, stomps most likely, as I dragged my non-responsive legs across the floor to join the rest of my body in the corner of the room. I clutched onto the cover of my journal. Then there was a thud, , I had my eyes closed. A grunt, a sharp intake of breath, heels clicking against tile, the cocking of a gun. I shut my eyes tighter._

_Then there was a whistle , a high pitched one, but not loud, I opened my eyes, and looked at the figure a few feet in front of me. He whistled again, louder this time. I blinked. " Oh, so you're not one of them?"_

_I pushed myself up off the ground by my heels and palm. I stared at him, then looked at the hole in the ceiling. Cold air was now seeping rushing into the room. "Huh?" I asked, completely oblivious to what he was talking about. " Uhm, I don't believe so." I didn't know if this was a good or bad thing. That's when he offered his name, and I let out a breath of relief._

Kiosky stepped away from the shelf, examining what was left. He turned back to me, " How much room do you have in your purse."

" It's, er, not a purse. It's a satchel, and I've got plenty of room." I said, removing it from my shoulder, holding it out to him.

He Took it from me and emptied several boxes that said 'magnum' on them into it He reached behind him under him shirt, retrieving another handgun, a different one from before. He placed that in there, too before handing my satchel back to me.


	2. The Beginning: Liam Kiosky

"Don't touch me." She screamed at me.

"Baby," I tried, "I'm sorry, I was being an idiot. I didn't mean to-"

"No, Liam, you knew what you were doing! You knew!" She pounded her fists on the table. My table. My very expensive table. Her rings scratched at the wood, leaving gouges. Sometimes Maureen could be a real _bitch_. Not Just any bitch, like the queen of bitches! Outside, tied to a pole, her dogs barked.

"Mar, I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear." I placed my hands over my lying heart. Was she buying this? Fuck, I hope so. I can't be on the streets again.

She looked at me, her icy glare trying to penetrate my eyes. We had just come back from church, something I usually don't do. One, because I'm not Christian, and two, church goers really grate on my nerves. I'm tired of listening to them go on and on about Jesus. But I had to, it was another lie I'd made for her. She was like the Virgin fucking Mary!

Which is why we're in this situation. I lied to her, stole money from her accounts, cheated on her several times; but this is the first time she's ever found out. No more fucking bartenders. I'm not a bad guy, I swear. I just have issues is all. Plus, I never wanted to get involved with her. I don't even like her, wouldn't even call her a friend. I didn't have to either, because she was my fiancé. My fucking bride to be.

It was all my sister's doing. I'm in debt to her; I donated to a fake charity that stole all my information and caused me to owe money to every bank I'd ever even looked at. So much for good deeds. My sister, Sharon, paid off every bank; she is the favorite of my parents, they left all the money to her. On top of that, she's a broker. She has more money that she knows what to do with. But she still made me promise to pay her back.

So I'm marrying this bitch because my sister wants her money, which is owed to her because of a charity scandal. Should have known better than to donate to 'kids with polio'.

Yeah, fuck my life.

"What 's her name?" Maureen demanded, her icy glare searching for something in my eyes. She wouldn't find anything, I'd lied to her plenty of times before. She doesn't even know me. Not that she would want to, or even be able to. She's too self absorbed.

"Laura," I lied, " Laura Fredrickson. I met her at a bar, I was sloshed, I wasn't thinking, baby. I love you." Man, lying is so easy, it's just like acting through someone's improvisation, you just keep a straight face; if they do good, you act like you were in on it, if they crash and burn, pretend like you were acting your ass off. Either way you win.

Maureen tapped her finger against her mouth, sucking on her teeth. She does that when she's thinking, and I abhor hit with all my being. It's not like she's innocent. She just acts like it. But I got close enough to see through her façade. Deep down, she's like a succubus. "What bar were you at?"

I blinked, "What?" Fuck.

" What. Bar. Were. You. At. Liam?"

Oh fuck! I can't just make shit up out of the blue. I though she'd buy my story without excess detail. " The one in the next town over, near the corner store." Every fucking bar was near a corner store out here.

"You don't remember the name?"

"No, I'm sorry."

Maureen got out her phone. The one I bought her with money I didn't have; I hate pretending I'm rich and I don't know that she is, too. She played on the thing for a few seconds, held the phone to her ear. All was silent as the rings continued on.

Finally, " Hello?" A voice answer.

"Hey, it's Maureen."

I've always hated that. Every time she answers the phone, she tells you it's her; so if were you planning on pretending you were talking to someone else to bear it a bit longer, no such luck.

There were muffled answers from the phone. I looked out the window; fog. This time of the year? I didn't think much of it after that. I looked back at Maureen, who was once again sucking on her teeth. Her coffee stained teeth.

"Yeah, I did. Did you meet him at a bar?"

What. The. Fuck?

"I didn't think so." She looked up at me, her stare icier than usual. " And I know for fact that you're name isn't Laura." She nodded her head like some kind of parrot on fucking drugs. I don't know how I can stand to be around her.

I love how she plays innocent. She's good at it in public, but at home… she wouldn't win an Emmy, wouldn't even be nominated.

"Kay, thanks. Bye, Michelle. Y-Yup. Okay, bye-bye." She hung up the phone.

I should've known better than to fuck Michelle. Should've known.

"You are a fucking. Liar!" Did she just say 'fucking'? In front of me? She's losing her grip. Worst word she's ever said to me with the purpose of me hearing was 'darn'.

There was still time to play this off. " Baby, I don't know who Michelle is, some woman is making this u-"

"Liam,"

"-p. I would never cheat on you purpo-"

"Liam,"

"-se, I love you, babe. You're my-"

"Liam, you dumb fuck! Save it!" She was putting on her coat. " She had pictures, videos, you name it! This was your chance at rebuttal, but you failed. You fucking failed! All you had to do was tell the truth, but I can't even trust you to do that!" She opened the door, swung out, slammed it shut behind her.

I did what any man would do; had a beer and took a nap.

Maureen came back, about an hour later, and told me to get out of her house. I went on the roof. Stayed there; with my blanket, a bag of chips, and church clothes. That's it. For eighteen hours I was up there, I wasn't planning on coming down. Then _it _came.

I was laying there, munching on the last chip in the bag, my shoes off. I heard a crash, and looked up. What the fuck is that!? I got up. The thing breathed heavily, it was like some kind of big fucking dog, it's mouth foaming, it's eyes dilated. It charged a me, letting out some kind of scream. My ears rung. I couldn't think fast enough; it tackled me, pinning me t the floor. I laid there in horror as it's fluids leaked on me, what ever that foam was, it pissed, too, and blood. When it tackled me it broke one of the pipes, and I guess he impaled himself on it. Dumb fucking thing this was. It still snarled at me, centimeter from my face, I put up my hands. If it wasn't for that pipe in it's abdomen holding him back, I'd be dead. Was it a him? I looked, yeah most definitely. It started leaking green shit and whining after a while. What the fuck, man!? It lunged a little farther, dislodging the pipe. Without thinking, I put up my feet, and brought the thing over me head, launched him off the side of the building.

What the fuck was happening?

I looked over the ledge, to make sure the thing couldn't fly or some shit. No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way. They were all over the place down there! Jesus fucking Christ! My stomach dropped to my feet, and my balls shrunk. I threw up. Over the edge. For a long time, vomit splaying all over the place. I gagged on some of it. I looked down again, they looked back up at men. FUCK! GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!

They all latched onto the building in unison, making their way up, faster than I fuck bird could fly up here. I grabbed my shoes and ran into the building. I fell down the fucking stairs. I might have pissed on myself. I heard those dogs things on the roof, trying to break down the door. I couldn't breathe. I didn't have the apartment key either. I ran at the door, pounding on it, " Maureen, baby! Let-me-in! P-pl-please!" I definitely pissed myself. I turned the knob frantically.

It was unlocked. Strange?

I didn't have time to think, I ran into the room, closing the door and locking it behind me. One of the windows were broken, when did that happen? Was I that oblivious the entire time I was up there? I grabbed my golf bag. I never actually played, but I heard rich people did. Trying to keep up appearances. I had gold clubs ga-fucking-lore. Never used, brand new. Placing the bag strap over my shoulder, I grabbed my bat and changed my pants and underwear. Something loose would work. Loosest pants I have are khakis. I put 'em on, I needed a belt. I looked through the drawer. As soon as I found one I heard something.

Purring?

No, it was louder than a cat, and purring doesn't sound so throaty.

Slowly I turned around.

It's a good thing I had already pissed myself.

Maureen? No… Yes? Oh god, oh fuck! She was huge, she was fucking HUGE. Her face was swollen on one side, spewing the same green shit the dog had I'm guessing. And she was… oh fuck….. She was _smiling_. Maybe just baring her teeth. Her eyes were lucid, her clothes were ripped, and her nonexistent breast were now mere giant nipples.

"Leeeee- um." She said. She sounded like a fucking deer, tiger, bear thing. Oh my fucking god. God save me. Fucking save me.

I almost threw up again, but it came out dry heaves. I scrabbled out of the room, still heaving. Maureen followed. Her hair fell out with every step. Her hands were morphed together and swollen, like her face; Her back looked like it was covered in tumors.

I stopped and looked at her. She stared back at me. More heaves. She glowered at me, I started to scream, cry actually; but no tears.

She must've gotten mad at this.

She let out a sound, like the dogs, only higher pitched and louder. I don't know how my ears didn't fucking bleed.

The dogs came. Charging at the door. She charged at me. I didn't have time to put up my bat. She hit me hard, I flew, _flew,_ out of the broken window. A one story drop doesn't sound like much, but it hurts all the same when you hit the ground. I sprained my ankles.

I got up, screaming, and ran for my car, I looked back at the window.

Mistake.

The dogs stared down at me, almost paralyzing me with their eyes. I slowed down. Why weren't they chasing me?

They looked at what used to be Maureen; she made grunting noises. I stopped now. What the fuck?

They jumped down , raging towards me. I began to run again, rather limp, actually. I tripped over my feet, but never fell.

They were coming fast.

I got to he car; my key? Yes. In my pocket. I quickly unlocked it. Jumped into the driver's seat just as the dogs jumped onto the back of the car. I heard their nails scratching my paint. Metallic paint was expensive, and green was rare. I would've been pissed if I weren't so fucking scared.

You know on those movies when they mumble with their keys? Didn't happen. I started that mother fucker faster than I ever had in my life. It was driving away that was fucking near impossible.

The dumb fucks jumped in front of my car, laying themselves out as speed bumps.

If they were trying to slow me down, they were doing their a good job. But once they were all dead, I sped away.

Finally, I took in a deep breath.

I turned on the windshield wipers.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

So many. Dogs, what looked like cats…. What used to be people.

What the fuck is going on?

* * *

I couldn't keep this up forever, I had no money, no gas, no adequate weapons. I was fucked.

Those things, the humanoid and beast-ier ones threw themselves at my car every chance they could. A couple followed me a few miles, wailing and grunting. Eventually they gave up too. Then I was alone, in the quiet, and the sun was starting to set. Thanks a bunch, winter.

It was eerie. I wasn't complaining, but it was weird. There were barely any cars on the roads. Maybe those things played catch with them and threw them off somewhere? Redtyre was always a ghost town, but not like this.

When I hit the end of industrial streets, I was cascading through ice. I guess the snow plow guy was taking the day off? I squinted my eyes; a snow plow truck, with a mauled man inside, to the far left of the back roads. I guess he didn't clock in after work, then.

I got so far out into no where, my GPS wasn't working, it told me I was seven miles from the nearest facility. Then why was there a building up there? A helicopter? Much be a rich business.

There was a silence about the place, an uncomfortable one. I stopped my car. A man came up to me. I was happy to see him. He waved at me smiling, his teeth were green.

I laughed, " That's quite a set of teeth you've got." I whistled.

His eye twitched, then he vomited out another one of those humanoid monsters. He dropped his gun on the floor. The thing pushed itself out of his mouth, snarling and growling at me. Fuck me with sandpaper. I had never used a gun before.

Perfect chance to try out my skills.

I rolled over under him, the beast never took it's eyes off of me. It's human…. Host, I should say, was melting under him, becoming a pool of vomit worthy flesh. The monster growled at me as I picked up the gun. I turned off the safety. At least I knew that much. Otherwise, I'd been dead. The thing finally got free. It hunched over me, about to sink it's claws in.

I shot, point blank.

It's head exploded, spewing black gunk and blood a few feet behind it, staining the snow. More green crap spilled out of it's open neck. It must have still been aware, because it tried to swing at me. I ducked and rolled behind it. Pushing myself up off the ground, I noticed something hot under my hands. I looked down, my arm was wrist deep in that black gunk.

The monster fell to the grown, disintegrated and caving in on itself. It smelled horrible.

Once again, I threw up.

Entering the building, it was more quiet than outside. The floor was littered. Door were broken down, blood was smeared on the walls. Disembodied soldiers lay lifeless all over the place. NO sense in it going to waste. I picked up any weapon on them I could find. I didn't know much about using a gun, but I read enough to know how to load, reload, aim, shoot( in theory) and how to decipher was type of ammo to use. I wandered around, whistling, just in case.

I was so tired.

So thirsty.

So nauseous.

I found a directory. Weapon closet, huh?

I headed that way, getting lost a several of times. I finally found it. The door was automatic, a pull out. Under the latch it said, "locked".

I did the only sensible thing.

On the roof I held the shotgun pointed down, I wish I had brought in my golfing bag, I had to put the weapons all over my body. Sure to leave marks.

I shot, once, and there were hold all over the place. I stomped in the center of where I shot.

I fell in. Grunted, got up. There was a noise behind me, whimpering? I cocked the shotgun. Pointed in that direction. When the cedar from the ceiling stopped falling enough for me to see what was over there, I stepped closer.

A man?

Let's check.

I whistled.

He blinked, I was about to shoot him. I whistled again, not wanting to kill him in his human host. He did nothing.

So, he was human.

Good. I hope for his sake he can use a fucking gun.


	3. The Beginning: Chris Redfield

The monitor beeped, over and over again. "Emergency landing. Everyone buckle up." The navigator said calmly as the pilot flipped switches and pressed buttons.

Chris did so. He looked over at Sheva, something was wrong; hers wasn't connecting. The buckle did not accept the belt.

She fumbled with the seat belt, too far from Chris for him to be able to help her. The beeping got faster. With a sigh, she took out her knife, cut the belt at the top. Chris had no idea what she was doing.

With nimble fingers, Sheva picked up the cargo restraint belt off of the floor and quickly tied it to the severed belt. She lifted her head up and made eye contact with Chris. He seemed to be asking something. She shrugged; they both knew it wouldn't hold up to much.

Chris looked out of the helicopter; a flurry of white blinded him. But whatever had made contact with the chopper certainly wasn't snow. He looked back at the pilot, who was steering to the best of his ability. The veins in his neck were very evident. Chris looked again at Sheva; she was in holding onto her seat.

There was a sound slightly muted by the beeps in front of him. The windshield was broken; a coarse, bulging hand had the pilot by the throat. The pilot screamed, blood hosing from his nose and ears. Chris instinctively pulled out his gun.

The last thing he saw before the chopper crashed and he slipped into unconsciousness was a giant… _thing_, entering from Sheva's side of the helicopter.

Then all was black.

When he awoke; he was alone. An endless amount of snow presented itself before him. It was night and the helicopter was nowhere in sight.

It had stopped snowing and now the ground was icy; it took him a few tries to get up.

He examined himself. A few scrapes, he thought maybe he busted his lip, and he knew his thumb and index finger on his right hand were broken. His clothes were singed and his shoes were almost non-existent. Looking down, he noticed his entire gun holster was gone. Perfect.

Chris looked around; no sign of anything or anyone. He stood in the cold, breathing heavily. He didn't have his gun, his shirt held no warmth, his shoes were useless now, and he had no way of contacting anyone.

"Sheva!?" He called out.

The wind began to blow, nipping at his nose.

"Sheva!" He called once more.

Silence.

"Harvey!" The pilot, " Greg!" the navigator.

The wind howled at him now, mocking him, making the silence deafening.

Chris began to walk, calling out their names every couple of feet.

It was to no prevail.

Exhaustion caught up with him as the sun began to rise. He had been calling out for them all night; his throat was sore, his lips chapped covered in his own caked on dry blood. The wind picked up again, bringing him to his knees in an effort to stay upright. The cold had seeped into him.

With a great amount of effort, he got up, shakily. Chris kept on walking. All day he struggled against the wind with his body trying to shut down on him. Up ahead now was a town… maybe even a small city. He strained to get there.

When he could hold off no longer; he lay down on his stomach. He assumed the fetal position, attempting to keep warm. Relief washed through him as the darkness took over.

He estimated only four miles to go.


	4. The Beginning: Sheva Alomar

With a gasp of air, Sheva awoke, cold; freezing, but her back was hot. She was sweating. What was that noise? Like breathing, only shallow…..but yet deep….

She tried to open her eyes. No response. There was no way her eyes were frozen shut; she tried again. Her lids were heavy but she managed. She let her eyes adjust. It was dark; the first thing she saw was the moon. Shaking her head, she flipped onto her stomach; her arms felt limp. She took a deep breath, her lids closing themselves again. Something smelled horrible. Forcing her eyes open, she looked down.

What the…

With a jerk, she jumped to her feet, not totally balanced, flailing her arms to keep upright. She fell a few feet away, sliding a bit on her bottom. She reached for her gun, finding it oddly misshapen. Picking it up, she examined it; both the hilt and barrel were melted, the whole structure caving in on itself. Sheva threw the gun to the side, grabbing her knife. Thankfully, it was still sharp enough to do some damage.

"P-l-ee" The thing in front of her began to speak.

She licked her lips, rose to her feet. Her hair fell in front of her face.

"-eeee-ze" It continued, "K-killll, " it took a breath, "-me." it flexed its fingers, the mass on its s shoulder bulging and pulsing. Its eyes were flaccid, its skin translucent. The veins in its skull were.. moving? Yes, they were swimming, squirming, contracting, spreading.

She planned to abide by its request.

Taking a step forward, she looked over the creature before her; it was matted with black and red liquid. Some green stuff was caked onto its stomach. From its open wounds leaked black ooze. She took another step, the gouges in its neck sputtered more greenish liquid.

The shallow breaths became louder, faster… deeper. She could see the muscles in its jaw contract.

With a quick jab and swing, Sheva sliced its throat. Red liquid as thick and tree sap slowly trickled down its neck, followed by green droplets from its eyes. The creature jerked, once, upward by its chest.

Then, all was still.

It began to leak a black substance from every orifice. Soon its body collapsed, disintegrated, leaving a fleshy pool of red, green and black at her feet.

Sheva looked at her blade. It, too, was disintegrating, the black goop eating away at it like acid.

She wiped let her blade fall to the ground; the blade was covered in a now solid black case, there was no way to preserve it.

Looking at the snow below her, she noticed it was melting around the pool of flesh.

Turning towards the sky, she deciphered the moon had just come up.

Her back was still warm, pulling her shirt over her head; she noticed the fabric was eaten away at, as if a moth had been snacking on it for days. Green patches were encrusted onto the back of her shirt, sizzling and hissing as she covered it with snow.

Looking around, she noticed a large shirt, polo, slightly ripped, hidden by the snow. She picked it up. Blood was spattered all over it, along the rim of the collar there was clumps of hair holding steady by something thick and yellow.

The name tag was still on it; Greg… the pilot. That had been Greg?

Where was Harvey?

More importantly, where was she? Or Chris?

Looking behind her, she saw in the distance a jumble of charred metal, scattered about. Smoke was still emitting from some of the pieces. Body part were splayed along and melded within a circle of piling snow, almost creating a fort. Sheva assumed that those pieces were Harvey.

Sheva cupped her hands before her mouth, "Chris?" She called out.

No answer.

She picked her shirt back up, about to pull it back on

A low hum began a mile away.


	5. Sharon's House

When she woke all she saw was blood. She could taste it in her mouth, and could smell it deep within her nose. Caked in with the soot. She could hardly breathe and she wasn't sure where she was. Feeling the steadily quick beating of her heart, she at least knew she was alive. Which was a relief enough.

The room was on fire. Literally. She could see nothing beyond the blaze; hear nothing beyond the crackling of the fire; feel nothing but the heat and the pain. Looking down, she saw the blood pool around her. Its tentative fingers reaching out to the wall behind her, dragging along the cracks of her wooden floor. Her legs lay useless and demolished in front of her, bleeding profusely. She tried to push herself up off of the hard, unforgiving floor. To her painful amazement, she found her arms hopelessly garbled; moving them just opened a catacomb of unexpected pain.

"Shit." She yelped.

How had this happened? What had led to this? What could she have possibly done to deserve this situation. She realized, vaguely, that she was going to die one way or the other. Either she would bleed to death, or burn to death. Both of which weren't very pleasant thoughts.

"Fuck, Sharon, what did you do?" She twitched involuntarily, causing a ripple of pain to move upwards from her limbs to the base of her neck.

Beyond the hazy tide of pain she heard something. An evil sound. A feral growl, followed by a thumping getting steadily louder.

She felt shitty.

* * *

Riley burped," Excuse me."

"Shit, man. Don't throw up again. We're almost there." Liam turned off onto an unmarked road.

"I'm sorry. But did you _see_ that? It was horrible! All of those _people. Murdered_."

"I've seen worse." Liam said, _Shut the fuck up. You fucking pussy.._ "Now be quiet."

Riley sighed, then straightened up. " What's that?" He asked, pointing towards the sky.

"What's what?" Liam was becoming slightly agitated.

Riley pointed. A thick cloud of black smoke consumed an entire section of the sky.

"Shit."

Riley looked at him, questioning.

" That's around where my sister lives."

"You think it's her house?" He asked him, worried.

"Probably, it's pretty isolated out here. One or two houses every mile."

Riley paused," Do- do you think she's-"

"- I'm sure she's fine." Liam cut him off, " But just in case we better hurry."

"Yes, let's do." He gave a little sneeze, then apologized, " I have allergies." He explained.

Liam scoffed. _Fuck off._ He thought.

* * *

The cold was biting at her every limb, toe, and finger. Her nose was cold enough to break off. But she was nearly there. She could feel the heat on the wind, and could see the smoke cloud just over a hill. She had to get there. She just had to.

"I'll find you, Chris. Promise." Sheva huffed against the wind. " I Promise."

* * *

When I pulled into the driveway, I knew she was fucked. Therefore, _we_ were fucked.

"You sure she's in there?" That little whining prick asked out of the window of the car. He had been too scared to get out. 'I have asthma, too.' What a fucking pussy.

"Her car is right there, so yeah. She's here." The entire fucking house was ablaze. There was no chance she could have been alive.

But still. " Wait there." I said over my shoulder.

I was seriously about to walk into this burning fuck. That is, until I saw it.

Matted fur on top of an otherwise hairless body. The placid grey skin revealing throbbing veins and capillaries. Just above it's chest, I could see it's beating heart. A solid ugly lump of shit an odd shade of blue-ish green. This one didn't have claws, it had tentacles. Three of 'em. All wrapped around what looked to be a woman's body.

My sister.

It was the scariest shit I'd seen all day.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My breath caught in my lungs, not even making it to my throat. I was perfectly still. As if, were I not to move, I'd be alright.

_Yeah. I'll be fine. Just keep quiet_, I told myself.

But what the fuck was it doing? Thrusting it's body on her like that so violently. Almost like it was-

No.

Sick God of All That is Fucked, no!

It was fucking her! My baby sister! Her eyes were lifeless and her skin was charred and bruised! It was even eating her at the same time! That sick fuck! Dinner and a fuck! Sticking its fourth tentacle in her with such rapid and forceful thrusts she looked like a rag doll. I wanted to scream. To run at it and beat the shit out of it with my bare hands. That tentacled-son-of-a-bitch, fucking my dead sister's body, howling it's feral pleasure every few seconds. But what good would that do? Both of my ankles were swollen: I wouldn't run very fast or far, and on top of that, I didn't have shit to kill it with. They were all in the car with shit-face there.

Good thing it was pre-occupied.

Slowly, I turned back to the car. I put my finger to my lips before pussy-fuck could make a peep.

I mouthed 'Give me a gun.'

The dumb fuck looked at me and shook his head slowly. Then, I'm guessin', he saw what I saw through the giant window of that burning fuck.

He was gonna scream. His mouth was open, as wide as I'd ever seen a mouth open. His eyebrows were pulled back in terror.

Ah Shit, aw _fuck!_ _Don't do it,man! Don't!_

Puter slapped his hands over his mouth, breathing like a lunatic. He pointed as if I didn't see that shit.

I nodded slowly. Then mouthed 'Gun' once more.

This time he closed his eyes, began to shake. He didn't budge an inch.

This was no time to be _fucking useless_.

I whispered fiercely, " GUN, GUN, GUN, GUN!" throwing my hands in the air. " GUN YOU STUPID SHIT-FACED MOTHER FUCKER!" I pumped my arms urgently.

I wanted to scream again. I looked back at that tentacled-fuck. It was having away at her now, Going berserk.

Now I wanted to throw up and scream.

Puter opened his eyes, leaned out of the window and puked violently. It sprayed out of his nose, and rained out of his mouth.

He was crying. _What. A. Fucking. Punk. _He looked at me and covered his mouth, giving my an apologetic look. Whether it was for throwing up, or for my sister's death and then her being violated by a monster, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was for both.

At last, he stuck his hand behind the seat, letting his eyes rest on the dashboard.

_**HUUURRRRAAAAHHHHGG!**_

That thing in the house _roared_. It was deafening. Loud enough to make the windows crack. I hate to say I flinched.

It must have just finished.

_Fuck._

For both of our sakes, Puter better hurry the fuck up.

* * *

" _We have to get outta here, man." Liam says._

"_Out of here? And go where?"_

"_I dunno. But we can't stay here. This place is crawling with them."_

"_With what?" I ask, now dangerously curious._

"_Dunno, man. Things."_

_I sighed, this man was not very helpful._

"_Well, I think we have to wait for the drill to end." I say, shivering as a breeze hits the nape of my neck._

"_What the fuck are you talking about?"_

_His face contorts into a sort of confused smile._

"_Uhm, the drill?"_

_He laughs. " Whatever, guy." He pauses, " Shit. I forgot your name. What was it?"_

"_Riley Puter." I say, trying not to sound timid._

"_Okay, Riley. I don't have anywhere I can think of I wanna go. Is there anywhere you _need_ to go, man?" He asks. But, for some reason, I don't think he cares much for my answer._

"_Yes," I say," Apparently, to complete this drill, I must find a computer and look at some data files. Hopefully," I add," my reward will be a new specimen to study.' I cannot hide my excited smile._

"_Right." He replies." We don't really have many computers out here. Kind of a quiet sort of, how you say, 'hick' city." He begins to move a shelf to stand in the center of the room, under the hole he blasted just minutes earlier. " The only person I know out here with a computer is my sister. She has a working phone, too. So I guess that's our first stop."_

_I nod silently. Liam begins to climb the shelf. " Hold this steady for me, yeah?"_

"_Ehm," I hold it as sturdy as I can. It was not an easy task. _

_He kicks the shelf down on it's side once he reaches the top. "I'll pull you up." He explains._

_Putting his arm down, I jump to reach his hand. He pulls me up without much effort._

"_You're very strong." I say._

_He snorts at me, " Nah, you're just really puny." Yet I can tell he's flexing his arms._

_The wind howls and nearly blows me back into the hole._

"_Woah," Liam says, grabbing me, " Careful, fuck-face."_

_I apologise. I've only been called fuck-face one other time in my life, and it was by a drunk._

_We walk along the slippery flat roof of the building. The air is at once cold, and then hot and horrible smelling as we approach the main entrance._

"_How far does your sister live?"_

"_Not too far. Just to the east of here."_

"_Is this standard drill procedure?" I ask._

"_Man, I dunno what the fuck you're talking about." He laughs._

_Ahh, Russia. Such a strange place. I guess they're testing to see if I can be trusted, or follow instruction, I suppose. I smile to myself. So silly. But I'm certain it's necessary. _

_We reach the end of the roof, Liam points me to a ladder I can climb down. He simply jumps down and rolls forward once he reaches the ground._

"_Impressive!" I yell down to him over the wind._

"_Fuck off, " He says, smiling, " and hurry the fuck up!"_

_I've never been in the presence of anyone who uses such language in place of polite phrases such as 'thank you' for extended periods. Hopefully this drill will be over soon._

_I climb down the ladder._

_Kiosky begins walking toward the gate, limping slightly. " I love the rush of falling, and how cool I feel when I duck and roll." He smiles at me over his shoulder. His car must be parked out there.I brace myself against the wind. I hope he has a heating system._

_The gate is open. I suppose someone forgot to close it for the drill. It smells rancid around his car, and there is gooey gunk all over the front bumper. He jumps ins the driver's side and unlocks the door for me. To his credit, it is very warm in the cabin. But the smell is nearly unbearable. I get into the Jeep as he pops the trunk. I allow it to air out. I would rather be cold than disgusted. I look behind me as Liam takes off all of the weapons he was wearing, placing them either on the floor of the trunk or on the back seat. "For easy access." He explains. I nod and give him a knowing smile. This drill is quite the adventure._

* * *

Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit._ Please, _please: hurry the fuck up!_

I grope the air, signalling for him to get the guns, that little fucking puke is still feeling for them. I wanna scream at the dumb fucker _just turn the fuck around and pick it up offa the seat! _But I can't. I gotta stay quiet.

That tentacled fuck of a creature is breathing heavily, and I can hear it get up.

_!_

Finally! Puter pulls a shotgun from the back seat, and tosses it wimpily out of the window. Barely a meter in front of the car.

_FUCK!_ How am I suppose to get to that? I might as well have walked to the car and got that shit myself!

Flight or Fight kicks in, I make a dash.

Next thing I know, my face makes contact, hard, with the icy ground. I get this feeling, the feeling you only get once or twice in a lifetime if you're lucky. It's a sort of ' I am going to get skull-fucked' feeling. That tentacled fuck is on my back. It's heavy as shit. Smells like it, too.

I hear Shit-face scream from the car. My only thought is,'well, this is fucked.'

* * *

She dived for the shotgun, rolling as she picked it up before the creature could get her. This was not the work of Uruburos, but something bigger. Aiming for its throat, where its heart wass, she fired. It hadn't taken long to access the situation. Burning house, tentacled monster, a screaming woman in the car, her husband probably being attacked. _Shoot to kill. Never to wound._

It cried out. A green gas bursting from its mouth. Then pieces of it were everywhere, steaming in the cold snow before it dissipated into black muck.

"Are you alright!" She called to the man on the floor, now looking around groggily, blood pouring from his nose.

"The fuck does it look like!" He called back, touching the bridge of his nose and wincing.

"M'am? Are you alright in there?" She called to the person in the car.

Suddenly the man on the floor laughed loudly. " Yeah! She's alright!"

Sheva took a few steps closer, raising her gun just in case.

"Excuse me," a male voice from the car shouted over the wind, " But I am not a woman." It sounded high pitched and frightened.

"Yes you are, you big fucking puss!" The man in the snow laughed again as he stood up, wobbling for a moment in the wind.

"I take offense to that! Both in that the term is derogatory towards women, and just plain rude to use against a man!" The man with the red hair said to the taller, dirtier man with the green shirt and black hair. " Please excuse my companion, miss!"

Sheva lowered her weapon, " I'm not offended. And I apologize, sir." She walked over to the the green shirted man and, after thoroughly looking him over,stuck out her hand. " I'm Sheva." She said. _I could take him if I had to. Definitely._

He took it and gave a firm shake. "Liam. Nice to meet you, friend. You have pretty fucking amazing timing." He laughed.

"Nice to meet you, Liam." she said, smiling. He was tall. At least six foot. With squinty toffee eyes and a sharp, broken nose. He had a full head of hair, and a shapely, but not all that muscular body.

"What brings you to this part of Russia all by yourself at such a convenient time." His accent was thick when it came to certain words with either an 'a' or an 'o', but you otherwise wouldn't have guessed he hadn't been taught English as his first language.

"I crashed." She said, taking glance behind her. He looked mildly surprised, but then, looking her up and down, nodded.

The circled between the three people closed as both the green shirted man and Sheva approached the car window.

" Hello, there, young miss." Said the _man_ in the car as he attempted to fix his hair. He was oddly pale, with deep green eyes, high cheekbones and a small mouth. His hair was neatly arranged despite it being mussed and dainty, and it stopped just before his shoulders. He gave a warm smile. " My name is Riley, " he gave a wave. He must not liked to be touched, this guy, " And you have no _idea_ how happy I am to meet you."

* * *

**A/N: **Thought I gave up, didn't cha? Just had a long dry spell with this fic. But it's back on. And I hope you enjoy. I can't promise any regular updates, but know that I love you, O' lovely reader.


	6. Get By With a Little Help

**Honk!Honk!Honk!**

_Yeah, I hear you!_ But that was all he could do. He was too cold to move. Lips dry and chapped, swollen unseeing eyes beset him, refusing even to open. The cold was no longer nipping, but eating away at every curve and bend his body had. All the heat had left him some time ago. He now lay on his side, freezing in the snow. His hands stuffed under his arms and his legs tucked against him.

He wished he had just listened to Sheva and worn that bulky, distastefully colorful coat. Even if it looked like a clown vomited rainbow blood on it. He'd rather be covered in bright, warm clown vomit than buried in snow right now.

"Eĭ, priyatelʹ!" A voice summoned. "Vy mertvy?"

_I can't understand you, _Chris thought bitterly, _Just get out of the car. Please._

He shivered, suddenly the wind picked up, carrying with it a scent he couldn't describe. It was a sick smell, making him grunt with disgust. With a quick burst he rolled over on his back. Everywhere was stiff and cold. Everywhere. He lowered his legs, panting from the effort.

"Ya budu schitatʹ, chto kak net." He heard the crunching of snow under large boots making their way towards him. Still, he could not manage to force his eyes open, or move his arms. So he lay there, like a lazy turtle on its back, waiting.

"Allo?" What Chris assumed was a man gave him a poke in the rib. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak. No words came. His neck was just as stiff as the rest of him, he couldn't even move it enough to nod. He settled for a cough, just something to let this guy know he was all the way there.

"Mmm," the voice seemed to be thinking, " American?" It asked, his accent heavy and weighing on that one word, seeming to carry some distaste. "Mozhete li vy menya ponimaete?"

_Why so many questions?_ Chris thought, becoming slightly agitated. But he wasn't upset with this extremely curious man. No. He was upset with himself.

That he had come here, without bothering to learn any of the language. That he had let things get so far out of hand. He had yet to find Sheva, and now he was slowly dying in an arctic wasteland.

He hoped that this person, who or what ever the fuck he was, would help him out, and not further ruin his week.

* * *

They were all gathered around the car, watching what used to be a home burn and have its ash be carried off in the wind. Riley had stayed in the car, while Sheva and Liam stood with their arms crossed against the hood. The snow was dousing the fire on its own, so it had been suggested they wait, and see what they could salvage when it was safe to go in.

It was silent between the three as they waited for the flames to calm. That awkwardness that occurs when you meet new people was not there, but rather a thick veil of unease with their sort of pleasant small talk had been carried along by the biting winds.

Liam struck the hood of the car, " Puter." He said, his gaze still ahead of him, " Reach into that glove compartment and get that pack of fags for me, would you?"

Riley obeyed, reaching out of the window to place them on the hull, " Here you are." He pulled his hand back into the car.

Kiosky picked up the pack wordlessly, pulling along the tab, he shed the plastic about it. "Fresh pack," he sad, opening it and looking at it's contents with a frown, " But-uh," taking one cigarette out of the carton, " I quit smoking over a year ago." He placed the single fag between his lips. Through tight lips to muttered:" Do you have a light?"

Sheva looked at her folded arms and shook her head, " I don't smoke. It's kind of part of my job to stay fit."

"You, back there, got a light?" Liam turned slightly and looked back at Riley.

"Uhm, no I don't think I do." He patted at his breast pocket for effect.

"Agh, too bad." He strode forward through the snow and carefully lit his cigarette on a wall falling apart in a fiery cascade. He took a step back and allowed himself a long drag. Taking in the sight of his dead sister's burning, he shook his head as he exhaled.

" It's all gone to shit, hasn't it?" He spoke to no one in particular, " All of it." He flapped his arms, feeling lost and hopeless to his core. " Two days ago I thought I was as miserable as it gets." Liam spat and took another drag. " But this... this is in a completely new level of misery." He ran a cold hand through his hair, and released a shaky sigh. But he wasn't going to cry. No. Not that.

Sheva watched him as he walked back towards the car, " Earth is a place full of misery, and yeah, there are different levels." She nodded at him, " And just when you think- " she smiled to herself, an odd sort of foreboding smile, " -when you think it can't get much worse. It does." She gave a very small and very sad laugh.

Riley poked his head out of the window, " I was raised to believe it's never as bad as it seems. That things will get better through time, and that everything happens for a reason. " He said, trying his best to sound the exact opposite of how he felt. His parents had been devout Catholics, and had tried their very best that he would be, too. But when they died from complications with pneumonia, he had had to move in with his uncle. A man of knowledge and coldness. Uncle Kyle had no beliefs, and, it seemed to Riley, no emotions either. It was no help to deal with the loss of his parents, being only ten, under the scrutiny and judgement of a brilliant stoic. By the time he was fourteen, he no longer believed in any sort of God, or higher power. He developed a fascination with life, though, and would spend hours on end nursing different thoughts about different aspects of life. And, through ridicule, he learned to not mention his beliefs, or lack thereof, to anyone. " There was a time when I thought I would surely die from the sheer sadness I held. But I didn't."

"Yeah, well fuck-head, if you haven't noticed, I juts nearly died. And not from being fucking sad, from a fucking monster! Alright? Don't pull that bullshit right now, Puter. My sister. Is. Dead. My fiancé turned into some sick, pus filled callous with tumors spouting out of her back; and I pissed myself _twice _today." Liam's face was tomato red with anger as he huffed and fumed.

No one thought to interrupt him, as it was just a relief to hear someone speak. Really speak. Not candied bullshit about dandelions and buttercup, but the actual danger they were facing. optimism would not get anyone anywhere this time around.

"So don't get me that fucking bullshit!" He was stomping in circles now, taking unholy drags of his cigarette until he was burning nothing more than it's filter. He crushed the fag in his palm before spinning to look back at Liam, eyes smoldering, " How the fuck dare you. HOW _FUCKING_ DARE _YOU_!" he spat, bending at the knees as he closed his fists around around as much snow as he could, " Where the fuck were you, huh?" He rushed at the window and threw the clump of ice directly at Riley face. Riley yelped in surprise. " Huh! WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU TO BE ON TOP OF IT! I COULD HAVE DIED, YOU STUPID FUCKING USELESS PIECE OF CAT SHIT!" Liam bellowed, he heaved more snow through the window, wheezing as even more color flushes his face, " I WOULD HAVE FUCKING _DIED!" _

"I'm sorry!" Riley whimpered, " I was frightened! The thing w-"

"- I don't give a flying fuck what you thought you were. Because to me, all you are is useless. The only reason you came along in the first place was because I needed to know I could throw something at these fucking creatures that would distract them long enough for me to get away, and you couldn't even do _that_ right." He huffed, calming.

Riley sat stupidly as the ice melted into his clothes and chilled him to the bone. His faced throbbed and his head was swimming. He looked at Sheva, who was looking straight ahead, apparently either ignoring the assault on him, not caring, or simply not getting involved. But she heard them. Riley would bet the city had heard Liam, screaming his blame at him.

Liam plopped down into the snow, completely spent. As cold as it was, he could go for a nice cold beer. Or maybe Six shots of the strongest whiskey known to man. His chest heaved, and he looked down at the snow, his features softening. It was silent for a good two minutes before he spoke again. " I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. " _Yes, I do. _he thought, " I'm scared,too, you know?" That was an understatement, he was _terrified_. Sighing, he looked over at Sheva apologetically, " I'm just vented. I'm sorry." He called.

"You have to get it out somehow, right?" She called back, turning her head slightly to look at him.

He nodded and looked down at his hands. " My sister is dead." It was a relief to him, and that somehow made him feel worse, " I mean, she was a bitch, and most of my life I spent plotting to ruin hers. But she's my sister." His face soured, and for a moment he thought he might helplessly shed a tear. But he wouldn't cry. No. Not that. " My _sister_." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing his thoughts away. This was not the time to dwell in his past. He opened his eyes and bit his upper lip.

Sheva shifted and looked down at him with caring eyes, and a hint of sadness in her voice, " What was her name?"

Liam smiled slowly, beside himself. He could feel his eyes starting to swim, so he shut them again, " Her name was Sharon." He pronounced each word with careful precision. " I hated her. I really did. But she was my sister, so I loved her ,too. And I hated her even more because I loved her." He brought his stony hands to his face , and wiped at his eyes. " But that's not even what I'm upset about, believe it or not. I came here because she was my life line. She had a phone, and a computer, and money, and a safe place to stay. But now it's all burned to the fucking ground, and there's nothing left to do about it." Liam leaned back into the cold snow, " Listen to me, going on about my problems. I'm sure you've just lost someone,too."

Sheva nodded slowly, " I have." she said cryptically, " And I won't stop until I him."

"Oh?" He said, confused.

"Yes." Sheva looked between the two men," My partner. I came in by helicopter,we were attacked before we could reach our safe zone. I know that the pilot is dead, but I don't know about him or the co-pilot." She shrugged, " I'm pretty sure he's alive. At least, I don't feel that he's dead." She aid wistfully. " No one told us where the safe zone is. I don't know where he is, or where he would go. Hell, I don't even know exactly where we are. But I know that I'll find him. Though I could use a little help. Maps, those guns you have there. if you're willing, I'd like you to come along, too. I know first hand the power in numbers."

Her eyes searched Liam's for a moment before she turned her boring gaze unto Riley. Both of them were quiet for a time, the wind whipping around all of them as fire died down to the north.

At once, Liam lumbered to his feet as Riley opened the car door and allowed his feet to crunch atop snow. " I'd be happy to help. As long as somewhere along the way I find access to a computer. Preferably a portable."

Liam chimed in, " There isn't shit else I have planned after this shack burns down."

Sheva gave a crooked smile and a nod, " Thank you."

* * *

They automobile charged up and over what felt to be yet another rocky hill. If his stomach weren't so insensitive, Chris was sure it'd be upset by now. Even with warm air circulating through the cabin, he felt chilled and wet to the bone. His lips remained chapped, no matter how much he licked them with his nearly dry tongue. He was thirsty, but then again, he wasn't. At the time, he wanted nothing more than the strength to scrub his hands over his eyes. Instead he settled from dragging his dry tongue across his chapped lips again.

If he were being honest, the cold was one of his few physical weaknesses. Chris could handle the heat, but a chill could have him in shreds in no time at all. A bullet; a kick; a punch; a disease: all thing his body could handle. But a snow drift was on an entirely different threat level.

He tried to sit up, but succeeded in only shifting his legs off of the seat. His upper body wasn't even attempting to follow his directions. The only think his hands were good for at the moment was pulling the blanket tighter across himself.

He hated to think about the time he was wasting curled up in the back seat of some stranger's car ( even if he was suffering), when he had places to go, people to find. Important people to find. Or at least, important to him.

_They were just hugs. Quick. Innocent. Often without thought. They were just kisses. Pecks on the cheek. Sweet. Just showing you care. And they were friends. Good friends. Just friends._

_Then as those hugs got longer, less innocent, with each person savoring each second their bodies were pressed together. Then those kisses got closer to the mouth, simmering, showing how much you want. And they were still friends. Close friends. Yearning friends unwilling to admit that they were slightly more than "just friends"._

_But they couldn't. _They can't_. Every night away from her- when they weren't training, or sparring, or out having a good time- he would repeat this to himself. 'We can't. We won't. She doesn't. I won't.' _

_And still, the hugs continued to get longer and longer. The kisses inched ever closer to a meeting of the lips. The less he though of her as his friend, and more of just _his_. _

_Then the nights over began. Just for company when the nightmares would zap them awake at night at first. Chris on the couch, Sheva in her bed. As the nightmares became more consistent: him on the floor near her bed. And when just his presence wasn't comfort enough: the cuddling an the comforting and the spooning in her bed. _

'_We can't. We won't. She doesn't. I won't'_

_Then the soft caresses, and the murmured words. The fiery kisses. The passionate moans and sighs. The aching bodies and the arching backs. The cries of pleasure and the sobs of completion. _

_But, oh no no no. They can't. They won't. She doesn't. He won't._

_They found they could. That they would._

_Even after the nightmares went away. Even as more of his clothes were in her dresser rather than his. Even as his bed lay untouched for days at a time. _

_No. They were just friends. Good friends. Close friends. Happy friends._

_More and more he found himself needing her. Needing to be needed by her. Needed just to be near her, if only for a few moments at a time._

_And he was content to need her. Inflamed by her need of him. They were content._

_As the word got out about a possible leak in Uroburos, things changed. Units were deployed, training was vicious. Spare time was scarce. The fear set in._

_Fear of losing her. It ate away at him everyday. He unknowingly pushed her away fraction by fraction. Soon his clothes were back in his wardrobe. His bed once again used. His nights restless and lonesome._

_Chris received his orders on a Tuesday. Two weeks after he had slept in his bed for the first time in eight months. Sheva was his assigned partner ( after the took into account how well they did in Africa). He hadn't so much as spoke more than three words to her for the last ten days. She called, but he didn't answer. She had come over, but he pretended to be out. He was petrified to even be near her most of the time._

_And they weren't friend. They weren't good. They weren't close. They weren't happy._

_But he wouldn't._

* * *

Sheva's once mossy-colored boots were now a soot-black with a sparse of small green patches. The fire had died considerably, so Kiosky and herself ventured in to see what they could salvage. The odds were very slim for them to find what they were looking for: a mobile device and a laptop or data chip reader. Though Riley refused to tell either of them what he needed such items for, he claimed it was very important. That he had to find some sort of HQ and tell the "Yurick made the delivery".

After sweeping some of the charred remains of what must've been a wooden end table out of the way, Sheva bent and examined a picture frame. " Hey, Kiosky. Come here for a second."

Liam stepped over several piles to stand beside her looking down, hands on his hips.

"Do you want to keep this?" She picked up a horribly worn photo frame. Most likely ceramic(Poor taste, if you were to ask her). It held a fairly new looking- though burnt black near the left edge- photo of an older man with long black hair with his arms around a considerably younger looking woman. He was clad in a faded green hula skirt and sandals while she wore a rather colorful muumuu and bare feet. Beaded bracelets adorned her wrists and she had a hand resting on his chest. Her mousy brown hair was tied behind her in a bun.

Liam sighed and bent at the hip to take the photo from from her. " Nah. That's my sister and her husband. They got married about three years ago. His name is... Brice or Brandon or something like that." He tapped a finger against the photographed man's head, " He's a real prick. I'm hoping he was in the fire, too. The world would be only so fucking pleased if he were permanently removed from the face of it." Smiling as he straightened out and threw the object into a different pile of unrecognizable ash, " Plus, if he's dead, I don't owe nobody no money." And he smiled even wider.

"He can't be that bad." Sheva said, also straightening up and wiping her hands on her trousers.

"Oh, yes he can." He laughed and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. " When I called him a prick, I wasn't using the word lightly. Some of the shit he does! I remember this one-"

**THUMP**

From under a fallen beam they both heard a rattle.

**THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP**

The beam reverberated before there was a loud **CRACK **and the floor beneath it caved in. Sheva removed the hand from her gun that had instinctively reached for it.

"That's weird." Liam let down the arm that had instinctively shit out in front of Sheva in case he needed to pull her back. " Really shitty construction, huh?"

Sheva gave a small smile, " Well, if it's caving in and making those noises we don't have much time left before the entire house caves i on itself. So, if you want you, you should find your- your sister and pay your respects."

"There's no need. I don't needta she her dead, charred-up face to say goodbye." He turned toward the entrance to the remains of the house. " let's just get going so we can find your friend." He shrugged. He had no idea where there were going to start on this manhunt.

Sheva nodded gratefully and strode ahead of him out off of the House's platform.

**CRACK!**

**FWOOP!**

_What the f-?_

Liam twisted around quickly, and, "_**HOLY FUCKING SHIT!**_" His feet legs got pumping before he could even register what he was looking at.

Sheva spun, her gun already out and cocked.


	7. Hideaways

It was truly a hellish sight. A putridly pink land octopus with three too many arms, slithering towards them with the speed of a missile. It wasn't all that big, no, but the look of it was enough. More than enough. I daresay, had she missed one more shot, I would have revealed myself, darted for the vehicle, and drove off as fast as I could. Thankfully, the Woman shot it dead, but not before it could wrap it's spiny tentacle around the Russian Man's torso and shred his skin to a truly mortifying degree. You could pick out individual chunks of missing flesh in the snow. I felt extraordinarily bad for the man, seeing as this was my fault.

But then I remembered: the cost of magnificence is infinite.

I lay still and low, waiting for them to collect themselves and leave. I had hoped the first two would have left earlier, once they saw the fire, and especially after the larger more-than-octo-pus attacked them and the woman came. Yet, still they waited. I contemplated killing them myself as my belly grew raw and my eyes grew swollen and tired. But, in the state I was in, it would be foolish to chance the growth of the new layer of skin.

After all, my transformation was not yet complete, and seeing as perfection was-_is_- my goal, I knew I should have to wait. So I did. Until the early afternoon. I have no conception of time any longer, but I can still read the sun and sense it pass. And I now know I waited far too long, and what a mistake I made in not killing them when I had the chance.

_When she was five, she had broken her leg in three places. When she was was seven, her leg was nearly cut off. Her parents were murdered when she was eight. She was abducted before she turned 'd been shot at, burned, cut, pushed, pulled, hit all of her childhood. Sheva had served as a nightwatchman( covered in mud, pelted by rain, attacked by wild dogs, out by dusk and not back until dawn), a soldier, a healer, alchemist, laborer, farmer, and leader. By the time Sheva joined the BSAA, she was certain he knew what pain was. Physical and mental._

_When her alarm clock woke her, she was already confused. "Chris," she yawned, " you're slacking." She hadn't heard her alarm in over three months, as Chris usually woke her five minutes before it went off, simply because he hated hearing the incessant buzzing, beeping, and variable ringing of her alarm clock. Not that she could wake up on her own: it was the staying awake that she couldn't manage these days._

_As the alarm continued to buzz ( tomorrow it would beep, then the day after that it would jingle, and the day after that it would play a supposed that was so you couldn't really get used to it, and everyday you would wake up alarmed), she wondered sleepily why he he hadn't thrown it across the room by now. She lay still, listening closely. And..._

_Nothing. Nothing beyond the noise of her alarm and the buzz of silence. It was only then that she noticed how cold she was: where was the usual arm draped across her, and the warmth of his body she was so accustomed to? And where was his weight? Taking her hand from under her pillow, she felt the bed behind her, " Chris?" she searched. Her hand felt nothing but cool sheet where his bulk should have been laying. _

_Sheva lifted her head groggily and strained to see behind her in the darkness of the early morning. Chris wasn't there. That, on its own, didn't worry her. What worried her was the sight that took his place. A neatly folded and tucked bedsheet. Chris never made the bed before he left. Never. But then again, he usually woke her when he left,either._

_Throwing the covers off of her, she stood and stretched. Her hand slapped down of the snooze button of her alarm, and she turned the knob the lamp on the nightstand until it clicked to life, filling the room with an eerily shallow light._

_Sheva drug herself the the bathroom, and looked in. No, nobody there. She walked to the kitchen, and turned on the light. No, not a soul. The living room, the dining room, the second bathroom, the shoe close, it was all the same: no Chris. By the time she checked every end and corner of her home, she felt uncomfortably chilled. _

_The clock read 4:26 a.m., "Might as well get dressed," Sheva thought. In her bedroom, she noticed a folded sheet of paper highlighted by the lamp on her nightstand. Curious, she went over and examined it. Just a plain, folded stationary piece of paper with her name printed in his handwriting on it. The sheer plainness of the paper sent a shiver through her hand, and struck her heart. _

_With a trembling hand, she unfolded the note. It read, simply:_

Sheva,

I'm sorry, but I can't.

Chris

_As her mind fumbled with the words- trying to find meaning, to find ground, to find the reason and the will- the room suddenly became too sharply lit. No longer was the lamp near her bed a shallow flicker of light cast about her room to silhouette the emptiness. Now it was a blazing nova, singing her eyes until it hurt to even blink._

_But, no. It can't be true. He wouldn't._

_The note fell from her hand as she rushed to her dresser. _Their_ dresser. She opened what was _his _drawer to find..._

_Nothing._

_She felt her throat tightening, a numbness beginning to spread from her toes upwards. It was a numbness she had grown to, in the last eight months or so, live without. Yet here it was, creeping back into her veins, her bones. _

_Her life._

_But it couldn't be true. He wouldn't._

_Sheva checked the bathroom: his tooth brush was gone. His razor was gone. His body wash, shampoo, hell, even his _dental floss_. All gone. _

_But it _couldn't _be true. He _wouldn't.

_She searched the shoe closet. Chris always left a sock, or a sandal, or even a pile of sand. No. Not even a pebble. She searched and felt for any sign of him ever being there, but there was none._

_It was true. He would. He did._

_The numbness spread quicker than ever before. Her wall. Her protection. But it was not powerful enough to spare her the knowledge of the misting of her eyes, and the thumping of her heart._

_Sheva was now on autopilot. She bathed, and dressed and ate, but she wasn;t there. When she got through her routine it was 5:12 a.m.. The only thing left to do before she left the house was make the bed. Well, half of the bed._

_She set the blanket and made sure it was centered. Taking a deep breathe, she realized with a twinge of pain in her heart, that she was wrong._

_Chris did leave something behind. His scent. On her pillows, on her blankets, on the t-shirt she wore last night, and every t-shirt before that. She heard, rather than felt, a tear drop onto her top sheet._

_She was wrong about another thing, too: she didn't know pain. Not like this. Not ever before._

"_Let this be the only tear," she thought to herself, " please, let this be the only one."_

"Water, just .Warm." He croaked, waving away the offered booze. the elderly woman nodded her head, the same placid smile never leaving her face, and went off into the kitchen. Chris wasn't sure if she understood him or not, for a number of reasons. She hadn't said a word to him, so he wasn't sure if she spoke English. She could be deaf for all he knew, seeing as she only responded to certain requests and gestures, and only when facing him. Honestly, he felt bad for asking her for anything. the woman was old and brittle and rigid, but friendly looking enough. The kind of woman someone would go out of their way to help across the street.

He sat on a springy brown couch in the center of a very empty living room. The house was quaint, and freezing cold ( but then again, maybe _he _was just freezing cold_), _yet still a step up from the outside storm, with its harsh winds and pelting snow. The walls were a worn-out beige pop-corn ceiling, every inch of wall with a picture of some family member. The frames were more interesting than the pictures themselves, though. Every man, woman and child looking in the same direction, and almost smile on their face, hands folded behind them or in their lap.

The man who brought him here, if he gathered his information correctly, was name Zibi. Or maybe it was a nickname. All he had to go off of was when she greeted them coming in from the storm. She had spoken some Russian to her son (again, an assumption), turned to Chris and nodded, the smile omnipresent to her features widening slightly. Then, she turned back to her son, grabbed his face in her hands and said, " Zibi. Zibi, Zibi, Zibi." all the while shaking her head and places dry kisses on his cheeks. Mother and Son helped him to the couch, sat him down, and covered him in three more heavy blankets, though it did nothing to warm him.

As soon as he could, he was going to get back out there. He had to find Sheva.

He just. _Had_ to.

Chris heard an echo of splashing liquid from the kitchen just as Zibi walked in. He was carrying a book in his hand, small, perhaps meant to be travel sized, the cover was in Russian, and the binding was worn. Taking a seat on the floor in front of Chris, Zibi concentrated on every syllable he spoke, sounding like a far off drone.

"Hallo. My name is Ziobro. What is. Yours?"

Swallowing, "Chris. Nice to meet you." he replied, rasping out every vowel.

Ziobro drew in his brow, flipped threw the yellowing pages of the book, paused, then nodded approvingly, " Yes." He said, " Very good. Woman here, name Nadia, is mother. My. I find you... outplace. Bring you here, where warm. You very cold, yes? Need warm."

"Yes. Thank you."

Ziobro smiled, looking eerily like his mother, " Welcome."

Just then, Ziobro's mother came into the room, holding a mug of water. Chris unwrapped himself form the blankets, took it from her and smiled gratefully. Taking a whiff, he picked up a moldy tinge, similar to that of an old sponge._I've had worse_. He thought wryly before slowly draining the bitter smelling thick and sticky water. It burned all the way down. Burned a relief through him he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He emptied he mug without so much as asking a pause for breath. The taste left on his tongue was that of sweat and dirt, though he didn't notice it beyond the relief of his coarse, howling, red throat. "More, please." His voice had some of its usually conviction back, but the rasp of every word was still felt.

Nadia took the mug from Chris' cold fingers and scuttled out of view towards the kitchen. Chris cleared his throat, denying the urge to wince as his muscles contracted, and spoke to Ziobro, "I crashed, in a helicopter." He gestured with his hands, slamming his right into his left from a height, then gestured up and outward to demonstrate an explosion. " There were two," he held up two fingers, " of us. I need to find my friend. Will you take me into town?"

Ziobro demurely watched Chris' pantomime, then nodded as he hunched over the translation book, turning through page after page without any real change of expression. Chris waited for a confirmation of understanding. Before any such acknowledgement arrived, Nadia returned and handed him the same mug, refilled.

"Thank you." He nodded at her.

"You are welcome." Nadia sing-songed, "I do not think you should go out there. With the storm as it is, you wouldn't make it very far."

Chris nearly choked on his water, " You speak English?"

"I think you should wait a few hours, at least. It should be completely dead by tomorrow, but I having a feeling you won't wait that long." She winked at him, folding her hands behind her back.

"You're right," he cleared his throat again; this time drawing phlegm instead of that burning dry air he'd been growing accustomed to. " I can't afford to wait that long. My partner made me a promise. That we'd never be apart again. She said she'd hunt me down if I ever lost her, and she doesn't break promises. That woman may be dying out there. And it's my fault. I have to find her. I owe her that." He took a deep breathe, ignoring the stinging of his eyes as he looked away.

Nadia shook her head sadly, " If you're friend was caught in that storm, she's already dead."

Lifting the mug to his lips he took a small sip of the thick water, " She better not be." And just then, whether it was the cold finally catching up to him, or the reality of Sheva's predicament truly hitting home, but he suddenly felt the most intense pain he'd ever had. It was all but physical.

"Shit! It fucking _hurts_!" Liam wailed from the back of the jeep. In both of his hands he fisted a wad of tattered cloth, which Riley had given him from the hem of his own shirt. The wad was fiercely pressed to his chest, moreso over the left than the right. The blood was pouring, and it was enough that you could smell it. As the vehicle hit another snag in the road, causing all the passengers to move with momentum, Kiosky whimper again. He hated to cry. Really _hated _it. But he had no shame about it. Besides, he wasn't fooling: _that shit fucking hurts_.

"Shit, man, take it easy!" Liam's eyes were half closed in a daze of nausea and pain.

"Yeah, Puter, be a bit more careful. He's _bleeding_ for Christ's sake." Sheva threw in, still searching the jeep for any sort of pain relievers, antibiotics or bandages.

"I'm sorry! I'm trying my best! This isn't a paved road you know!" Out of all the occupants in the car, the most nervous, upset of them all was Riley. He'd never seen so much traumatizing imagery in such a short expanse of time. They shouldn't have let him drive in the first place. They all knew that. His task was simple: find a house they could raid for clothes, medical supplies, food, water, batteries, and a fucking sink ( as Liam had so colorfully said it) to clean themselves up in.

"Oh shut the fuck _up_, Puter! You're not the... one bleeding." The statement had little life to it. Liam was about to pass out. Whether to pain, exhaustion or just as an excuse to escape his nausea: he was passing out.

"Shit, he's just about lost it." Sheva had succeeded in finding only a travel pack of Kleenex and some expired Tylenol in the dashboard. Neither would do much good in the situation. " Puter, speed it up but take it easy, please." Her hands replaced Liam's on the bloodied wad of thick cotton. " Hang in there, Kiosky." A frown sketched itself across her face.

"I think that's a house up there. That small Victorian-esque block behind this flurry of white." Riley whispered nervously. To no one in particular really. It was an odd habit. When he was scared, Riley often spoke to himself without his knowing it. It came to no surprise to those who knew him well. Riley was the type of guy who preferred just about anything to silences. And the shallow breathing of a faint man was too close to silence than he could bear.

_When I was a boy, my father dropped me off at Camp Gunther just outside of Eastern London. He said to me: " Riley, now I know how much you love to read, but every once in a while you have to actually _do_ something." I looked at him, in my young, desperate admiration of the man who aided in my creation. I looked at him, and I said: " Yes, father. I know." I smiled, beside myself. I didn't know why I was smiling- I still don't know why I smiled- but I just kept smiling. Because that's what kids did. That's what _father and son_ did. They would smile at one another._

_My father, at his full height of six feet and two inches, gaped down at me, his ever present scowl the only emotion to his face. His eyes were bright, yet dull and lifeless. His eyebrows were knitted neatly together. He folded his hands behind his back. He didn't say anything to me. Not one word before he left. He was always so quiet. So _silent_. My father gave me a curt nod, and a heartless wave before lowering himself back into his very new Towncar. He sped away without so much as a glance back at me._

_I stood there dumbly, a dufflebag weighing on my shoulder. I stood there, waving good-bye to my father. He wasn't watching. I knew that. The show wasn't for him. It was for me. It made _me _happy to think that, possibly, someone else might be looking at me. See me waving happily at my father, and think that I was a happy child. I was far from a happy child._

_The entire time I spent at camp, they wouldn't let me read. Books were forbidden. My days were spent walking in my high summer shorts, and my night were spent restless, listening to the cicada sing loudly outside my cabin. _

_I didn't know how to make friends. So I didn't have any. I was nine. I was nine, and I hated life._

_I wish I had a sob story to tell. That I was beaten or mistreated. A damaged product or a mishandled good. But. no. I wasn't beaten, I wasn't mistreated, I wasn't mishandled. I received no physical contact. I wasn't treated at all. I wasn't _handled _at all. My mother died when I was five, and my father seemed to resent my existence._

_They weren't bad people, they just weren't good parents. I don't remember my father ever being there before my mother died. And afterwards, I still don't remember seeing him very much. Unless absolutely by coincidence or necessity. I knew he didn't love me. And he knew I knew he didn't love me._

_My father thought me nothing more than an odd boy, with whom he wanted very little to do with._

_Now, my mother. Well, I don't remember anything good about her. I remember she would scold me for asking for another biscuit. I remember she tsk at me if I asked a question she felt I had no business knowing the answer to. I remember how broken and frail she always looked, even before she lay on her deathbed. _

_It's odd, really. I have pictures of both my mother and father. Pictures form before they were mum and dad. Pictures where my mother was beautiful, and my father could smile. I don't know what happened. I don't know if it was me. All I know- all I remember- are the years of silence._

_And how much I _hated_ it._

Once they had finally gone, I decided it was time for me to brace nature. I had to get somewhere to finish my transformation. I am an arthropod.. My metamorphosis is complete. Though i was not yet fully matured, I was nearly there. I was nearly perfect.

I braced the winds on my new-forming skin. It was cold but it wasn't. I was walking but I was still. I was me and yet I wasn't. All that was constant was the _beauty_. _I_ was beautiful. Then, so was everything else. All except for the humans. I had been one of them once. But now... Now, I was something far superior. Not a man, no. Not a god, either.

But something meant to be worshipped.

I slithered and waddled my way to an underclove. As my teeth began to fall out, I realized my transformation was nearly complete. I lay on the damp floor. Waiting. Waiting for sleep to come.

Waiting for my new beginning.


	8. Sagely

My wife. My beautiful wife. It was all for her. It always had been. I loved her. More so than I could ever love myself. She was perfect. A goddess. Her days consisted of doing good and bringing happiness. And what became of her? What fate did God have for her? Cancer. Pancreatic cancer.

We were poor after all the treatments, none of which seemed to help. By the time we stopped going in for chemo, she was merely a sickly shadow of her former self. It pained her to laugh and to smile and to cry and to breathe and to think. What pained her most was to live. She told me. She told me how much it hurt her to live. That in trying to cheat death, she was being punished by being forced to live in a bodice of anguish.

All I wanted was to help her. To _save _her. And all she wanted-

-was to die.

There was a man that came to us. His name was Tubet. French. He told us that he had _the_ cure for cancer. That all he needed was my help, because I had a degree in DNA analysis.

I couldn't refuse. And so, I left my beautiful wife in the care of her mother, who lived up in the middle of nowhere. Tubet gave me a specific task. I was to isolate a strand in a sequence. Once I did, without destroying the other strands, I would have the cure for cancer. I could save my love.

I worked all day, and at night I called home to speak with her. The signals up at her mother's house were extraordinarily weak, and could only get past the AM radio waves at very specific times. Usually, when I was alert, alive, and wanted nothing more than to speak with her about this or that, I couldn't. I could only call when I was exhausted and defeated by the day.

Every phone call became shorter as she fell asleep with the headset to her ear. Every exchange of words became meaningless as I could feel her slipping away. Soon I stopped calling to speak with her, and my despair forced me into a lame sort of daze that substituted for sleep.

Just as I was about to give up, and go to her... just to be the last one to hold her- I did it. I successfully isolated, separated and duplicated the one strand of DNA. I made a serum and it was flawless. Utterly impossible to better.

But, as I've come to learn, if there is a God he is a sadist. There were two things wrong with the picture that was set before me. Two things I learned too late. The first was Tubet. He had lied. Or rather, told half the truth. The strand I isolated would cure cancer, yes. But it did unspeakable things to the body it that played host to it. The test subjects we used turned into several different creatures. Sickly looking things with oozing orifices and placid skin. He promised me, with time, we could fix that, too.

That was problem two. I didn't have time. My wife had died while we were testing, and no one could reach me to tell me. At the time I had an eerie sense of coming undone. I couldn't explain it to you even now. I just felt so lost. I had to see my love. It was time I went to her. I decided I could chance it, and I took a vial of the serum I had created with me.

I drove for hours on end to get to my mother-in-law's home. When I got there I was not greeted, merely ushered inside and led to a closed door. I looked at my wife's mother for a moment. She gazed bleary-eyed back up at me before she turned with a choked sob and a muttered curse in Russian. She left me there, at the door.

For a while I couldn't move. I knew what was happening. I knew what had happened. But then I didn't. For those immobile moments I didn't know anything. I couldn't accept anything. Finally, with a burst of energy, I closed my eyes and threw the door open.

My breath as hard and heavy as my chest, I called to my wife. The only sound I heard was that of the door resounding off of the wall. I shut my eyes tighter and clenched my teeth. "Jules, baby?"

Still no answer.

I walked blindly forth, my arms extended outward as I felt for the bed. I could think or breathe, or open my eyes.

My hands touched the cool duvet of the bed and I stopped short of toppling over as my knees struck wood. I still couldn't open my eyes. I pleaded, " Julie, dear. Please, just say something to me."

Silence.

My lids heavy, I grimaced as my eyes opened of their own accord and strength. There she was. My little darling. My beautiful girl. Cold and pale in the glow of the bedside lamp.

I had no thoughts. I had no feelings. I had no answers to the questions I did not ask myself. In the long moments I gazed in horror at my love: I was _nothing_; no _one_; no _where _and no _how_.

I wanted, with a strong passion, to take her place. To be dead, and have her living. Have her happy, and alert and... there. I wanted her there. Just as I want her here now. I went to her, and held close the corpse, the shell of what was my reason for living. I didn't know what to do with myself. What to do with her. What to do _about_ her. About anything, really.

I was lost. Completely.

I couldn't leave her there, or wait for the next ambulance to show up ( the current number in circulation where my mother-in-law is of ambulances is zero. The nearest hospital is forty miles away.), so I took her with me. Back to the lab.

I wanted nothing more than to complete the serum. To perfect it.I told myself that, if I did it right, I could bring her back. So I hid her in the laboratory,and visited her every day for the six months it took me to realize another two things. These realization, the come in twos, don't they?

I realized that: I couldn't perfect it, it was as good as t was ever going to be; and that I could never go back to the life I had with her. Ever. She had died. I could bring her back, but would it really be her? I came to the decision that I didn't care. That we'd start all over. Fresh and new.

A new genesis for the species I was creating. The two of us.

* * *

Riley pulled into an empty driveway, "Is this okay?"

I looked at the shabby shack of a house- a hut really. It was falling apart. It did not look like it could be standing up to the practical icy winds that attacked us when we were out in the cold. Big as it was, it looked caved in on its sides. I considered for a moment if I should tell Puter to keep driving. I thought better of it,though. It was the only sort of shelter I had seen in miles. " It'll have to do." I sighed, helping Liam into a sitting position. "Don't turn off the car. Get out, and go see if the door is unlocked." I said to him.

Nodding dumbly he replied, " Okay, just a second or two." He looked back at Liam and I, then shifted his eyes to the various blood stains on the upholstery, "Yes, I'll be back in just a moment."

I had Liam's head lolling against my shoulder as he attempted to catch his breath enough to even think about getting a foot out of the car, and firm hands pressed against his blood hot chest and back. We needed to get him somewhere where he could lie down. Somewhere away from the freezing wind.

"It fucking... hurts." Liam panted, grasping at my shoulders. He swallowed. "Jesus fucking Christ it hurts so much."

"Just hang on. It'll hurt less when you're laying down."

"It feels like... I've been hanging on for-... for fucking ever. Tell me, honestly... how ba-... how bad is it?"

He loosened his grip on my shoulder momentarily before squeezing half-heartedly. I wouldn't lie to him. "It's pretty damn bad, Liam."

He gave a sad smile, panting a small chuckle, " I fucking knew it."

Riley rushed back to the car, opening the door and grabbing Liam's legs. "Yes, the door is unlocked. I found a place for us to lay him down." He said nervously.

"Right," I said, gripping Liam under his armpits, "brace yourself, Kiosky." We nodded to three before we hauled him out of the Jeep.

"Holy fuck it's cold out here!" Liam hissed through clenched teeth.

Riley gave a nervous laugh, "It's a bit warmer inside."

I adjusted my grip as we squeezed through the rusty malformed over-sized hatch of a door.

"This way, if you please." Riley turned down a corridor into what must have been a living room. An obnoxiously large couch with its rather dusty tarp pulled halfway off, a monstrous fireplace, and a lone end table against a wall were its only decoration. Along the wallpaper there could be seen, even in the little light that we had, outlines of where there must've been hung picture frames. Wires jutted out from the farthest corner, where it seemed to have collected dust bunnies for years. Bits and pieces of uprooted carpet were scattered around the dusty wood flooring, along with scraps of plain white paper.

"Lay him down on the couch. Don't worry, it's not as dusty as the rest of the room. I pulled the tarp off myself."

We lay Liam down on the couch as gently as we could, then Riley and I pulled back and sighed in unison.

"What can we do for him now?" He asked, wringing his hands nervously.

"Yes, what can you do for me now?" Liam panted, kicking at the tarp that still cover the couch in as he repositioned himself.

"Well," I put my hands on my hips, " We can start off by finding something to dress your wound. We should probably try to get a fire started as well." I nodded to Puter, "Go search the closets for blankets or some other thick linen. I'll go get our stuff out of the Jeep."

He nodded and hurried off. I turned to Liam, " That's a nasty injury you have. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do much for the pain. I doubt these people left anything in their medicine cabinets, and even if they have, I'll bet my last dollar it's well past its expiration date."

"I've had worse."

"Have you?"

"No. But I think if I keep telling myself that, it'll eventually feel true. Now go. Get our shit out of the auto already so we can start this damned fire. Puter is a fucking liar, it's just as cold in here as it was out there!" Liam gritted his teeth and clenched his fist on the back of the couch.

"Right, sit tight." I said

"I hadn't planned on going any-fucking-where."

* * *

Chris awoke to someone gentle gripping his shoulder. He felt like shit, but at least he could feel his body again. Still, he wasn't very thankful for his sore limbs and dull headache.

He squinted in the dim light cast by the furnace at the person waking him up. "Is it time?"

"Yes." She said lamely, " The storm is as calm as it will get, if you want to find your friend, now is the time to go searching." Nadia removed her hand from his heavily clothed shoulder. Chris was not about to risk frostbite again, and had borrowed a snowsuit and heavy winter cloak and hat from Ziobro. His boots would work just fine, along with the wool socks he borrowed as well.

"What time is it?"

"It is," she paused and looked toward the kitchen as Chris sat up on the couch and stretched, " 3:13."

Shaking his head against the rising thud of his headache, he asked, "A.M.?"

Nadia bowed her head in confirmation. "You may take an auto from the garage, the ones made for such weather, that is."

She handed him a single key.

"Thank you." Chris said, finally standing and cracking his neck. "You've been a very good help."

He was about to leave when she stopped him, "Wait." Nadia left the room for a moment, then came back with a full looking duffel bag. She lumbered over to him, and that placid smile returned as she held the bag out to him. "Take this with you."

"What is it?" Chris asked, already pulling the strap over his head.

"Food, water, medical supplies, gasoline, and some things that you may think you do not need now, but will greatly appreciate later."

"Like what?" He already had his hand on the door, when his curiosity won over his urgency.

Nadia's smile melted away, and her warm eyes grew steely. "You must listen closely, Mr. Redfield, as I will only say this once. There are things happening- things that have happened- that cannot be undone. Even you cannot stop it on your own, nor with your partner. I do not care what you have done, you are not capable of handling this- this mess." She sat down in the spot Chris had vacated minutes earlier, folding her hands in her lap, she continued. "I know what you will face. I have seen it, and I know who is behind it. It is in your best interest to stop asking questions, and start finding your own answers.

"Inside that duffel bag is a PDA, and a usb. You are not to turn on the PDA, nor try to plug the usb into another device. You are to wait until you come across a man who has heard the message. He will tell you whether or not Yurick has made the delivery. Only then may you use the PDA. Do you understand?"

Chris nodded dumbly, turning the handle on the door. He was grandly annoyed with Nadia's sudden sage-ly act, and no longer cared to be in the same room as her.

That stupid complacent smile returned to her face, " Good. Now go. You only have about six hours before the storm picks up again. Head west. There you will find who you seek."

Chris left without further ado.

Utterly confused and irritated with the old woman, Chris started the snowmobile. His head was pounding now. He pulled the goggles over his eyes and pressed on the gas.

It wasn't until he was well away from the small house, once his irritation died away, that he realized something.

The smallest tendril of fear stole into him as he rode across the blinding white landscape.

He had never told the old woman his last name.


End file.
